


Confessions of a Tomboy Princess

by Zoggerific



Category: Sonic X, Sonic the Hedgehog (Archie Comic), Sonic the Hedgehog (Comics), Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types, Sonic the Hedgehog: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, Mobius (Sonic the Hedgehog), Sonic and the Black Knight, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoggerific/pseuds/Zoggerific
Summary: I am not Sally Acorn. We share one body and past but not our souls. I don't know why I'm here or why I've done such terrible things. And I am writing this diary so that someday, my people can understand what it was like to lead the Freedom Fighters through the Great War. A SATAM AU. Edited by fantastic editors VictorLincolnPine and ShadAmy1Fan - Shylah McVey.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

I'm a Freedom Fighter, or rather, was a Freedom Fighter; that's the name Sonic coined for us. It's cheesy, but it fits.

You may have heard of my actions during the Great Struggle, and while in no way do I expect vindication, I expect your judgment to be fair. Will future generations judge me a monster, or a ruthless pragmatist willing to do whatever was necessary? I don't know. Maybe I don't want to know; it's not up to me to decide.

Perhaps you are getting confused; I suppose I have gotten a little ahead of myself. I believe I should begin with the truth: I'm not Sally Alicia Acorn, the younger sister to Elias Acorn and the daughter of Maximillian and Alicia Acorn. I believe it's essential I should get this issue out of the way; even if the world doesn't acknowledge it. This is the truth and the only truth which I can establish with absolute certainty.

But I'm her spitting image, down to even the most minute of details. Admittedly, there have been a few changes; she probably wouldn't have approved of either my fashion sense or hairstyle, and she certainly wouldn't have approved of the collection of scars I accumulated while masquerading in her life.

But if that was all there was to it; if I was just some doppelganger forced into her life by some foreign entity without knowing how or why that would at least be something I could accept. For certain, I was very willing to entertain this theory, but that's simply not the case.

You see, I'm not merely her body double, I share her memories too. I remember life from behind her eyes. I remember her perceptions, her hopes, her dreams and her prejudices. All her memories are my memories. No more, no less. What's worse? I have no other memories besides hers; no other point of comparison to call my own.

Yet, I'm not Sally. I do not follow her thoughts. I don't empathize with her feelings. I don't share her - soul. How can this be possible? How can you share someone's form and memories down to the finest of details and yet be someone different? Is a person not the collective sum of their lifelong experiences?

I still haven't arrived at an answer. It's a question thick with importance, filled with conjecture and overwhelmed with the desperate hope that some answer may be found. If a person truly was the sum of their past, then I had just summed up Sally's life and came to an altogether different result.

I record this philosophical question down in my diary. In the hopes that someday I may arrive at more satisfactory answers. I know the real Sally in such times of crisis would have reached out to her close inner circle of friends for counsel and guidance, but it no longer matters what she would do; it's not what I would do. Her friendships are not my own, I admit I'll need their strength for the challenges ahead, but I have no way of obtaining their help without calling upon people who are sure they know me, but really do not. I regret it sometimes, being unable to confide in my compatriots, but how could I have explained my crisis of identity to them when I do not understand it myself?

No, this is a proverbial Gordian Knot which I must unravel on my own.

I think, perhaps, people shouldn't be defined by whom they mingled with. Looking at history, the great men and women of the world have always been defined by their enemies. My father's enemies were the Overlanders, and history will define my father for his imprudence. In his desperation for final victory during the Great War, he turned to one of their own for solutions; a mistake that resulted in his banishment to the Zone of Silence.

Who's my enemy you may ask? This is a subject to which Sally and I share strongly in common.

Imagine if you will, being dragged in chains. Your captors? Cold unfeeling steel. Some are the man-sized SWATbots; others, metallic facsimiles of your fellow Mobians; a foretelling of your inevitable fate. Feel the panic, apprehension and slowly dawning realization of your fate as you are packed together. Perhaps you're with family and friends -there's a mercy in that- spending your final free moments with people you know.

Smell the acrid stench of pollution as the macabre procession drags steadily along. Eventually, you arrive at the end of the journey. In front of you stands the very thing you have heard only in rumours and hushed stories: the Roboticizer. There is little time to gawk and stare. Already, your metallic captors are hard at work, guided by an unseen hand. One-by-one, the unfeeling SWATbots seize members of the crowd. Parents separated from their children, couples are broken apart. Age and physical disability are no object to the SWATbot's scanners. The unfortunate victims are led like lambs into the dreaded machine. Some resist, some turn to flee, but it's futile in the end.

The machine hums to life and before your eyes, flesh and living tissue are warped into their mechanical equivalent. Shrill screams ring into your ears as their bodies twist beyond recognition. Where once stood flesh and blood, a Robian stands instead; their bodies slaved towards the will of Robotnik.

It was nearly a decade since Robotnik's coup d'état. Over a decade since the vast majority of the populace was enslaved and reduced to automatons slaving away at the dictator's megalithic projects. Nearly a decade since Mobotropolis, the once vibrant capital of the Acorn Kingdom, was transformed into the nightmare land of Robotropolis. Our little group was fortunate enough to escape during the early days of the coup. Aunt Rosie, Sally's governess led our exodus of a dozen frightened children through the Great Forest to the former royal retreat, Knothole, which became our new home.

I like that name, 'Knothole', it sounds homely.

In the years since our numbers grew as a steady trickle of survivors stumbled across our little set-up; growing from the dozens to the low hundreds, and in the process becoming a village. Our group too grew and matured, childish pursuits neglected in favour of survival skills like hunting, scavenging, handling high explosives and small unit tactics. We started small, launching forays into the outlying reaches of Mobotropolis for supplies. Now? We're striking back.

Some days, we free captured survivors. Other times, it's for weapons and materials, but most importantly we stay hidden and try to preserve our strength.

Perhaps, there are other groups like us, still fighting the good fight, but it's all baseless speculation. All I know is that whatever we're doing isn't good enough. Genuine success is rare and hard-won. Like the day we freed the roboticized mind of Sir Charles. He's in Robotropolis now, able to pass effortlessly as one of the countless menial Workerbot Robians; that was our first genuine victory. Both an intelligence victory as well as a moral one, knowing our captured families and friends still awaited salvation. But other times, we lose people; more than I find myself comfortable with.

In my dark moments, when I expect my friends and I to be dragged before the Roboticizer, I find myself wondering whether it would be better to ask as a favour from the dictator to go first; if only to be spared the feeling of anguish, of failure. I know this is the only mercy I can expect because if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't show any mercy at all.


	2. Meet Saly

Meet Sally

My first true memory, of which I know for certain is mine and not Sally's, was when I found myself rudely roused on a morning some two months ago. I know this was me -the true me- when I felt a deep confusion. Deep down inside, I felt wrong. My skin felt different, almost as though it was hugging me in all the wrong places. For a moment I felt as though I were experiencing an out-of-body sensation, not knowing whether I had claws, paws or horns before it passed as quickly as it came.

Just what had I been doing last night? I struggled to recall the details but drew a blank as my head pounded from a debilitating lack of sleep. My head spun as a wave of exhaustion crept over me, almost as though I had not managed to garner a wink of sleep during the night.

After a brief struggle, I managed to extricate myself from my bedraggled bed-sheets before inspecting myself through bleary eyes. But try as I may. I failed to notice anything unusual. Something was definitely different though. Something I could not place. My alarm/palm pad NICOLE beeped incessantly, a loud cacophony which snapped me from my self-inspection and added to my pounding headache.

I tossed and groaned, curling my worn and yellowing pillow around my head in a futile attempt to muffle the noise, but my make-shift obstruction couldn't block it out. If anything, the noise seemed to grow in intensity, in spite of my attempts.

So, I smashed NICOLE.

With a lazily aimed throw, NICOLE met the hard surface of my nightstand. Her sensitive casing bent and warped; spilling her delicate electronic components across the surface. With a whine, much like a dying beast, the alarm ceased. Then, with a loud groan, I turned over and promptly went back to sleep.

This was not Sally's regular behaviour. For a start, NICOLE was the most advanced handheld computer created on Mobius; an irreplaceable and priceless gift from her father shortly before the coup. Not a mere trinket. Sally, the real Sally, would never have treated her in so careless a manner.

It would be some time before I would get into the habit of analyzing all my reactions to stimuli to determine whether they were genuinely my own, or some vestigial effect of Sally's memories. At the time though, all I knew was that I was irascible from being roused and all I cared for was to sleep in, regardless of the consequences.

I didn't rise till I felt Tails poking me in the side. Forcing my eyes open, I was instantly assaulted by bright morning sunlight piercing through the latticed window of my hut. A zephyr spilt through the unlatched window like a spectre, bringing fresh and crisp air in its wake. Outside, brightly coloured Flickies with their chilli-coloured beaks were twitting their morning melody, filling the air with a rhapsody of song.

By now, Princess Sally Acorn would have been up and about, busy as a worker bee, her regal status regardless. As far as she was concerned, an hour spent not furthering the course of the Freedom Fighters was an hour fritted away. An hour that could be better spent pouring over schematics of Robotropolis; her keen eyes flicking over every detail, searching for any flaw or oversight in a plan that would result in the difference between a 'milk run' mission, or ruinous disaster.

"Hey, Aunt Sally?" Tails spoke directly into my ear, his tone was boisterous and mildly chiding, and definitely tinged with enthusiasm causing me to twitch slightly in annoyance. "Mobius to Sally! Are you awake yet?"

I gritted my teeth, extremely put-off by the sound of my charge's voice. "I'm still asleep" I mumbled in reply while swatting away his gloved hand.

"I would say you are pretty awake, Aunt Sally." Tails retorted, "come on, slowpoke."

"Right, right, breakfast." I said as I tugged my thin blanket over my head and burrowed deeper into the worn pillows, "wake me when it's time for lunch."

"Come on, Aunt Sally." Tails protested, "you can't possibly stay in bed all day!"

"Can't I?" I growled in frustration.

"Um, nuh-uh." Tails replied cocking his head to the side quizzically while observing me with his most pleading expression. The young kit clearly knew just what buttons to push on his adoptive guardian.

Left with no choice, I sighed and begrudgingly threw off my tangled bed-sheets. "Fine," I said, "time for another wonderful morning."

"Alright, cool, I'll see ya later down by the mess hall for some grub, Aunt Sally." Tails mentioned cheerfully. If he had noticed my sarcasm, the two-tailed fox kit showed no hint of it. As he headed for the door, I felt a sudden urge to kick him in the rear, but held back, squashing the intrusive thought to the back of my mind. I should have taken this as a warning sign.

Getting through Sally's morning routine was a chore. As befitted a member of royalty, albeit one in exile, Sally was fastidious about her cleanliness. She showered as often as her strictly rationed supplies of clean water would allow it; which was usually every other day.

Today, I would indulge myself. I expended in my shower what must have been three-days' worth of water rations and would probably have to make do with sponging myself off over the next few days. However, in spite of the copious use of water, I was unable to shake off my feelings of unease. Stepping out of the shower room feeling marginally better, I decided to banish the feeling as 'morning blues'.

Then, I brushed my teeth.

Sally's bathroom was her 'Zen Garden', a place of solitude within the confines of her abode. There, she placed a photograph of her close companions: the original Freedom Fighters. As per her morning ritual, Sally used it to remind herself of their cause. Not deviating from her usual observance, I reached for it myself, thumbing over each member of the Original Freedom Fighters in quiet contemplation, and let the memories flow…

…It was night, I was back in Robotropolis. I spun around with unnatural speed, having felt the rocket before I heard its explosion; creating a pillar of fiery smoke, dust, and great rags of fire in its wake. My ears ring. A buzz bomber drones overhead. Its quad mechanical wings letting out a long whine as it climbed for more altitude.

Another rocket streaks up. A surface-to-air fired-off by Rotor. The semtex within ignites in a fiery ball of orange-yellow flame. It billows outwards, engulfing the drone; completely obliterating it. The noise reverberates over the ruins as effectively as a thunderclap. If the badniks hadn't given away the game, the explosion certainly had.

I tried to get-up. But there's a body lying on me, Turtle. His weight was pinning me down. I tried to lift him off, to lift the dead thing off me. Only, it wasn't dead. It was moaning, groaning. I ignored it. My ears were still ringing from the last explosion.

Had to get free; had to get Home, to safety. My arms felt like jelly. I had to lift up with my legs instead, but I only had one; the other trails uselessly behind me, blood oozing from a piece of shrapnel lodged in the side. Fear and adrenalin were what kept me going. Mostly though, I felt pain. I tried to slide. That was better. The floor was wood, smooth and slick with blood, oil and lubricants; some of the former being my own. I reached out with my hands and pushed. Had to get free. Had to get free to help. I dragged myself slowly, carefully, gingerly beneath the fallen form of Tommy Turtle as he whimpered.

"Geoffrey" I called out for the skunk I hoped was still nearby.

"Yeah, I'm here." He stood poised, ready for trouble. In spite of the din of battle, his lime-green army beret remained securely on his head and a bandolier of spare bolts was slung over his shoulder. In one hand, he brandished a crossbow, and with the other, he grasped my outstretched arm. He pulls, and with a lurch, I'm free. I stagger to my feet shakily, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through my crippled leg. I shift my weight away, coming to rest on a mouldering mannequin.

Wait, a mannequin?

I was in a fabric cutting room. A showroom for the kind of dresses the rich and fancy wore to formal events. It was all covered in dust and mildew from neglect. Around the room there were hugely wide, long tables covered in cloth. One tilted up precariously, where a leg had been broken off entirely during the fight. Big rolls of patterned fabrics on that end weighed the table down and made it balance like a seesaw; neither up nor down. Overhead, there were banks of fluorescent lights with splashes of stylish neon on the bare brick walls. While strewn all over the place were piles of rubble and broken robots.

I saw Bunnie limping out from behind an overturned cart of loose fabric trimmings. She was alive. I was relieved; so very relieved. For the last I had seen of her she was in trouble. "Geoffrey? Sally Girl? Where's Twan?" she asked, more concerned about the coyote than the visible sparks and odd whirring noises coming from the gash in her roboticized limb.

I didn't answer. I didn't know the answer.

Bunnie extended her long robotic limbs and started shovelling and sifting through battlefield detritus and the broken bodies of our SWATbot opponents. Until eventually, she found the coyote's crumpled form lying beneath one. His chest rose steadily up and down. He was alive.

"Antoine, are you hurt?" I called, though he didn't react. "Antoine?" I asked again, concerned.

"He's okay Sally Girl. Twan just stunned that's all. Ah'm sure he'll be fine lickety-split." Bunnie said to reassure me and possibly herself as well.

As if to prove her words right Antoine shifted "Wah zis? Oh, mon head" The coyote complained groggily.

"Idiot," Bunnie growled at Antoine, somehow managing to cram a significant amount of affection within that verbal snipe, "that was a gosh dang crazy thing to do, Twan! What in tarnation made you try to stab a badnik with yer sword?"

"You know, zis was not such a good idea after all" Antoine moaned while clutching his head.

In the distance, out through the big doors down the hallway. I heard loud gnashing, smashing noises. It was Amy. The pink hedgehog wasn't fighting. Not anymore, just aimlessly raging; roaring with mad frustration as she mutilated the desiccated remains of her fallen foes with her enormous 'Piko-Piko-Hammer'. So much like the frustration of a feral beast looking for fresh victims and finding none.

"Sal?" I felt the speaker`s movement before I could see him. Sonic was already at my side; helping me to stand. He was just a kid then, but he was already an accomplished fighter. He got us out of this mess. Somehow, we survived. We would make it back home ... all but one of us.

"Someone ... so cold . . . help . . ."

We had been in many fights; so very many. This one was bad. This one would invade my sleep and leave me sweating and crying from night terrors. Tommy was hurt, Badly. He had lost so much blood; so very much. His face was pale. The colour was draining from his face. It was white and waxy, like a white candle.

"I'm cold," uttered the dying turtle, "Just. . . just get me a blanket or ... "

"Sally, more will show up. We have to leave now" Geoffrey cautioned.

"I'm scared. Does that. . . please don't leave me behind!" he gasped.

"I won't leave you behind," I whispered. It was a lie, a little white lie to assuage a fading friend.

"Come on, Sally." it was Geoffrey again, this time imploringly. The others were already climbing their way out of the ruined building. Having spared only a few sidelong glances at their fallen friend

"The pain … can't you help, Sally? Cold. Help me. Don't leave me here!" he grasped my hand weakly.

"Sally … go." This time the skunk had taken my hand, forcing me to leave.

"I'm sorry. I've to go" I whispered regretfully. Setting my jaw, I turned to leave. All while dragging my useless leg behind me. Waiting for me outside was Bunnie's outstretched hand, helping me to the surface. Pretty soon we would be joking and laughing, trying anything to make ourselves forget…

Instantly, I squeeze my leg, brushing a finger across the mottled discolouration virtually hidden by short brown fur. It's okay now. No blood. No shrapnel. Just a scar. Just a memory. I removed the toothbrush from my mouth; pink-stained toothpaste trickled out from the corners. I brushed till my gums bled! I spat into the sink, observing my haunted appearance in the mirror. With trembling hands, I planted the picture face down. Was this what it was like to go nuts?

Frowning, I went through the remaining motions of Sally's morning routine. I combed my bedraggled auburn hair, using a measured amount of clean water to set it in place. The entire time, I felt like a marionette whose puppeteer had grown bored and was winging their way through the show.

I stormed out of towards the mess hall in the foulest mood I could remember feeling. By now the sun had risen high, sending its brilliant golden beams spearing straight down across the village in a gorgeous, coruscating flood of lambent majesty graciously set for me.

Antoine, our usual cook, had prepared pancakes flavoured with homemade jam from which stared at me invitingly as I salivated in anticipation. With the first tentative nibble, I knew something was wrong. It was not the texture which reminded me strongly of cardboard; that could be expected from food past the sell-by date. It was something else.

Tersely, I savoured the sample in my mouth, dissecting the individual flavours offered by the morsel. The flavour was just as I remembered it. A little cold perhaps, but that could be explained by my extended stay in bed. Then, like a bolt from the blue, a thought struck me. This was something else. Something new and altogether different from what my borrowed memories had led me to expect.

Those pancakes tasted just like always, and yet I despised them. That was when the first mental break started to happen, the first moment when I became acutely aware that I was not who I had been when I went to bed the previous night. Can you imagine that feeling? The feeling that everything is not as it should be? That the nature of your existence as you knew it was a lie? Not as a rationed-out argument but a deep certainty so great as to be absolutely true. The shock snapped me like a twig. I panicked, and grabbing the table in front of me, shoved it into the wall with a burst of strength. However, if you think shoving a table was the extent of my overreaction, you are dead wrong.

Mobians have an innate strength stemming from our primaeval past. Sir Charles, Sally's personal tutor and a wise philosopher explained it to her once. The young princess had been grounded to her room, nursing a broken arm from a violent sibling spat. I couldn't remember much about the argument itself but the lesson stuck. In our distant past, before we had the gift of fire and spears with which to fend for ourselves, we were prey, and all we had to protect ourselves from predators was our speed and strength. Sally had that strength, refined by years spent fighting against Robotnik. I had all her mental skills and physical ability, but none of her self-control, and when I threw the table, it was with all the strength she possessed.

The side of the wall buckled and the flimsy handmade table splintered apart. I stared for a moment, mouth agape at the extent of my own strength before I assessed the damage. Briefly, I wondered if it would be worthwhile including bulky furniture to our next salvage run to Robotropolis. There I stood, thinking about finding replacements and not think about what I had done, what I had really done, until I heard pained sobs from amid the pile of wood, chipped pieces of drywall and broken pewter dishes. Then the realization hit me, and for the second time in under a minute, my world dropped out from beneath me. Tails had been between the table and the wall.

Having inherited Sally's honed reflexes from spelunking through the deadly realm of Robotropolis, I was over at his side in an instant. Tails was … hurt. If he had been a regular fox he may not have survived. Fortunately, Tails was a chaos wielder, channelling them primarily through his twin namesakes. It enabled him to fly and made him much more durable than the average Mobian, even as a kit. He was alive, even semi-conscious, albeit extremely hurt.

Sally was no stranger to injuries. It wasn't a proud thing she could attest to, but she had the dubious honour of witnessing more than her fair share. Her trained eyes had a knack for such things. Pushing down the lump in my throat, I scanned his twitching form. His skin was split in a dozen places, limbs contorted in strange angles. I held my breath for a moment, frozen in blood-curdling horror. A chill washed down my back. A lead weight sat in my stomach and my throat ran bone-dry.

The long drawn out moment was only shattered when Tails let out a pained wheeze, coughing out flecks of blood. I met Tails' eyes with my own. His sky-blue eyes looked so terrified. When I reflect on that terrible moment now, that's what I remember most of all. All I could see were his pain filled eyes, looking at me with such shock and fear. His mouth twitched slightly. He couldn't draw enough air into his lungs, but I knew he wanted to scream.

I had been conscious for less than an hour and already I had managed to nearly kill one of Sally's closest friends. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't realize who I wasn't yet. All I knew was that Tails was hurt bad, possibly dying, and it was all my fault. I remembered crying and screaming his name. Tears distorted my vision making the event seem surreal. As though I were observing some distant event unfold through a kaleidoscope of colour. I dropped next to him, frantically nuzzling him "Stay with me, Tails." I called. I wasn't sure what I was trying to accomplish, but as we already established, rational thinking wasn't on my cards at the time.

The other residents of Knothole came quickly. A make-shift stretcher was brought out, something to take Tails to Doctor Quack with. We were so fortunate when Sonic was able to free the former Royal Physician from Robotnik's clutches. The ageing doctor quickly proved himself a valuable member of the Freedom Fighters, being able to pull off medical miracles with the scarce supplies at hand.

I couldn't recall the exact words of all who came to help, but I do remember that all were willing to do their part to make sure the youngest resident of Knothole was alright. It's one of the best parts of my fellow residents really: the ability to see someone hurt, drop whatever they were doing and come together to help. I have many problems with my fellows, but this isn't one of them.

In some ways, I ought to be thankful for the breakfast fiasco. Otherwise, I don't think I would have been as willing to co-operate with my fellow Freedom Fighters who merely wanted to help. I don't think Sally would have been willing to co-operate either, but for entirely different reasons. Before I could fully process what was happening Tails and I were carried over to Doctor Quack`s clinic, where a small crowd of concerned residents gathered outside. The doctor himself was outside and kept asking me questions even as he cleared the crowd to make way for his patients. I don't remember what his questions were or how I answered, but I was sure I gave the impression of not being in a right state of mind.

"What happened, child?" Doctor Quack asked while shinning a penlight into my eyes, snapping me from my nearly catatonic state; I slapped it away.

"I don't know" I snapped, returning my attention to Tails, who was busy twitching and gasping. It was too painful for him to stop moving, even though it was still painful to do so. During the stretcher ride, he had even begun to emit a distressing keening noise. How I wished he would stop. The noise was almost worse than the sight of his mangled body. I laid my ears flat against my head in distress and pleaded to the doctor, "Help him!" I demanded.

"As the royal physician, I must attend to the princess first," he replied patiently, "if you let me examine you for a moment…" he began adjusting the stethoscope on his neck.

"I don't care," I snarled, "give him something for the pain, now!". The doctor ignored my protest and shone his penlight into my other eye. My fists began to clench and my jaw rooted. Rage hit me like a sledgehammer. Before I realized what I was doing, I had grabbed the old doctor by his sleeves and slammed him against the window of the clinic so hard it rattled. Onlookers peering through the window gasped in shock at the sudden violence, but I didn't care. I pressed my face onto his creasing beak. "Help him!" I screamed, spraying spittle.

His eyes were wide, his webbed feet scrambled for traction below him as he feebly attempted to struggle free. I grabbed a hold of his throat with my other free hand. "I can help, please let me go!" he pleaded weakly within my grasp; The pressure on his neck making it a struggle for him to breathe.

"I don't believe you" I hissed in a low voice, tightening the pressure. He tried to say more, but couldn't as he choked and squirmed. The veins on his eyes bulged as the doctor slowly asphyxiated, yet I didn't relent. I had to have held him for almost a minute. It felt like an eternity. I wanted him hurt. I wanted him punished. He hadn't acted the way I wanted and left a friend in pain.

Throwing the table was a moment of panic, of existential fear. Was it a massive overreaction? Certainly, but justifiable nonetheless. But my desire to punish and choke the life out of him? That was so out past left field for Sally that it must have been me; another indicator of who I am. I didn't want to kill him then, but I think I would have. Luckily, my fellow Freedom Fighters wouldn't let me make that mistake.

"Sally Girl!" Bunnie's voice cut through the haze of my rage. She shoved her way through the horrified crowd, excusing herself for everyone she had to step over with her long mechanical limbs. Behind her was Dulcy the dragon and Antoine.

"Bunnie!" I called back while dropping the waterfowl unceremoniously on the floor "Tails is hurt!"

"Ah heard all about it, came as soon as ah heard" Bunnie replied making her way over to me. I gave her a solid hug. Despite the heaviness in my stomach, I felt a slight flutter. In spite of the unwelcome feeling of her robotic digits stroking my hair, her biological core gave a sense of warmth and making the atmosphere within the walls seem a little less bleak.

Out of Sally's friends, Bunnie had the unique quality of solidity. Behind her mechanical limbs lay a strong Mobian heart. If I were a storm-tossed mariner, she would be the ideal rock I could cling to. She's not my favourite person, but I get along better with her better than most.

Having clumsily pushed her way through the crowd like an enormous green plough, Dulcy stumbled and her clawed hand tore through the thatched roof of the clinic. Unable to safely extricate her hand, Dulcy opted to give the clinic a new skylight by tearing a hole large enough for her head before peering through. "Oh, Tails" Dulcy gasped in dismay as tears welled-up from the corners of her eyes. Tails' eyes rolled towards Dulcy with such hope and relief in his eyes that I nearly collapsed. While Bunnie may be solid as a rock, Dulcy, I go to for moral support. It almost makes me want to overlook her bad qualities.

Sometimes, the adolescent dragon would mistake other residents for her recently roboticized mother, Sabina. Other times, Sally even caught the dragon sucking on her thumb when she thought no one was looking. In her darker moments, Sally had despaired at Dulcy's childishness thinking of her as weak, ditzy and absent-minded. Of course, she had the tack to keep this to herself

"Princess, what eez happened, ver you attacked?" Antoine asked me hesitatingly.

"Stop simpering!" I snapped. He gave a hurt look like I had actually struck him. Antoine, oh Antoine; alone among all of Sally's friends, how I hated him the most. I simply can't imagine how she could have tolerated him before. I know there is a lot more to him than his cowardice and false bravado suggested. But that outward persona was so … conceited, vain and selfish. I guess I am no stranger to any of these qualities myself. Do I hate him because he reminds me of who I am? Or do I hate him for who I am not?

"The side of the mess hall had a big ole hole in the side, passed by it on the way here," Bunnie said, "what happened? Are yer hurt, did anyone try to hurt you?"

"I don't know," I replied as my shoulders slumped and I sank to the floor. I don't think I was intentionally lying. I was in denial, trying to repress the memory of the event. Maybe, just maybe, if I imagined hard enough, it wouldn't be real the next time I opened my eyes. It didn't work, but you can't say I didn't try.

Adrenalin is a funny thing; it lets you face your greatest fear without a moment's hesitation, but afterwards, when the job is done, you wind up feeling raw, hollow and cold. I was feeling that now, staring at the recovering doctor from my seated position. Shifting my attention away, I stared briefly at Tails. Trying hard not to think about how he ended up in that condition. I failed.

"Sally Girl, please tell me what happened," Bunnie asked while crouching down to my level. She met my gaze with her own; her eyes were tightly focused and worried. I had all of Sally's memories and I knew her best girlfriend Bunnie Rabbot well. I could have used her knowledge to fabricate a convincing lie or twist the sequence of events into a half-truth to the farm bunny's satisfaction. If I had been conscious within this world for more than a day I would have, but I didn't know better. I thought Bunnie was my friend, so I looked her in the eye and told her the complete and honest truth.

"I didn't like my pancakes.''


End file.
